


Saying That I Want More

by BoxOnTheNile



Series: Flown Too Close [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Hawke, Hybrid AU, M/M, because the world needs more of it, both the hawke twins survived
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-04-19 15:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4751864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxOnTheNile/pseuds/BoxOnTheNile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nearly half of all children born are hybrids- those living with animal traits. Many see them as unable to conquer their instinct, little more than the animals they resemble. Anders is one of them. Fenris is another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HeroMaggie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeroMaggie/gifts).



> Mammal hybrids have the ears/tail/antlers of their animal. Avians(birds) have the wings and tail feathers, as is necessary for flight. Other hybrids(fish, insect, amphibian) are rare and probably won’t appear in this fic.
> 
> Please don't expect actual Fenders for a few chapters. I hate the way the Karl/Anders relationship was handled in the game and Anders is gonna hate himself for a little while. *is Kanders trash*
> 
> Gifted to HeroMaggie because she encouraged this. (This is your fault.)

Fenris growled softly as he watched the man in front of him. Hawke had burst into his ill acquired mansion early that morning, claiming the wolf hybrid needed to “get out for once” and “wolves are more social than eagles, why do I even have to do this?”. The elf’s ears twitched back against his head. 

Hawke caught the motion from the corner of his eye and furrowed his brow. “Look, Fenris… How broody are you feeling right now? Because we’re hunting some Tal-Vashoth along the coast and… my healer’s a mage, and I need to know now if you’re gonna go predator on him and tear him to shreds.” Hawke’s quiver jostled as his wings shifted under his shirt. 

“I will restrain myself,” Fenris promised, then wrinkled his nose. “Are we staying in Darktown long?”

“Oh, your sense of smell is sharper than mine, sorry. Nah, just gonna pick up Anders and head out to the Wounded Coast.” He scratched at the tan feathers in his hair and turned back to chatting with Varric. Fenris resigned himself to the smell.

 

“No, Hawke.” The mage, Anders, crossed his arms in front of him and stared Hawke down. Hawke was a big man, as befitting his hybridization- white tailed eagles were some of the biggest birds in Ferelden and the Free Marches, Fenris had heard- but Anders was standing up to him. “I have things to do, I’m not going to come running when you call. Besides, you are not here for a healer.”

“Okay, it _is_ true I want to push you off a cliff, mostly, but I do appreciate your healing.”

“Hawke-”

“You’re also the only one of us that can cook-”

“Hawke-”

“And when was the last time you flew anyway?”

“I can’t!”

The clinic went silent except for a child coughing in the corner.

“Can’t come or can’t…” Hawke whispered, looking horrified.

“I never learned.” Anders shrugged, turning away.

Hawke scowled. “You’re definitely coming and we’re not leaving until you can fly. You’re a petrel, right? That’s a seabird? So the coast is a good place.”

"Yes, a Fea's petrel is a seabird. But, really, Hawke, you don't need to bother. I've never felt that urge."

"Never felt it, or never let yourself?" Fenris asked, because he knew, knew what it felt like to suppress instinct, had done it every time he wanted to form a pack. Why a mage would suppress it, though, baffled him.

Anders ducked his head, a flush building on his cheeks. “Look, wolf, I-”

“Fenris.”

“Fenris, then, I’m fine, I don’t need-”

“Healer?” A small elf wrapping bandages around a man’s wrist interrupted softly. She had black wings and red feathers dotted in her hair. “You should learn. It… It’s the best feeling in the world.” She blushed when Hawke grinned triumphantly.

Anders sighed, but went to grab his pack.

 

The Tal-Vashoth were shockingly easy to handle. They were obviously good fighters, but against two archers, a mage, and the force of nature known as Fenris, they didn't stand a chance.

Anders held his hands over Hawke's thigh, pouring healing magic into a wound. The other avian hybrid had shrugged out of his jacket, his wings splayed out behind him, feathers fluffed.

“Hawke, hold still,” Anders hissed at him, swallowing an annoyed screech. Hawke just grinned and nudged Anders’ foot with his own again. The healer bit his lip. He knew Hawke was flirting- eagles mated by locking talons- but it was too soon. He could still feel blood sliding over his hands…

He jerked his hands back. The wound on Hawke’s thigh was mostly healed, looking no worse than a scratch from his Mabari.

“Anders?” Hawke’s brow was creased with worry.

“I’m fine. I can-” He reached out, but Hawke waved him off with an easy smile.Anders huffed, but turned to handle the wolf hybrid, Fenris.

The elf was frowning intently as he wrapped a bandage around his upper arm. Anders grimaced at how loose it was.

“Here.” The mage crouched by Fenris, reaching over to unwrap and rewrap the bandage. “So, Hawke warned me not to use magic around you, but he didn’t tell me why. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I am willing to listen. Healer and all, gotta know how to help me patients.”

“Am I your patient?” There was a touch of… something in the elf’s voice.

“Well, if you’re following Hawke, I’ll probably end up healing you sometime or other.”

Fenris watched him tie off the bandage and shifted, pulling up tunic so Anders could tend to a shallow slice on his side. “I am Tevinter,” he said after a moment.

Anders hands faltered as he cursed colorfully. Hawke had a habit of collecting misfits, apparently, but a runaway slave? The man had either a heart of gold or the worst luck in Thedas. Probably both. “Whatever you did during the fight, the glowy thing- is it safe to assume your master did that?”

“ _Former_ master.”

“Of course, forgive me.” Anders skimmed light, gentle fingers of one pale mark leading into the crook of Fenris’s elbow. The wolf hybrid flinched, growling softly, and Anders pulled his hand away with a muttered apology. “These marks… are they lyrium?”

“...Yes.” Fenris curled his hands into tight fists.

“No wonder you dislike magic, if it did this to you,” Anders whispered, feeling sick. Justice rumbled angrily in the back of his mind. 

**THIS IS UNJUST. HE DID NOT WANT TO SING. YOU MUST HELP HIM FIND JUSTICE.**

_One step at a time, Justice. Let’s start by being his friend._

 

Fenris was thrown. A mage had not only bandaged him, bad had also implied he would avoid using magic around him in the future. A gentle mage, a flightless avian… who _was_ this man?

Hawke wandered over when Anders tied off the last bandage, grinning wildly. "Okay, Anders. You can take off the shirt to fly or cut holes in the back for your wings until I get you a proper avian's shirt." He offered the healer one of his knives.

Anders eyed the knife. "I'm not taking my shirt off around any of you, so set up camp first," he told the eagle hybrid primly, tucking the leftover bandaging into Fenris's pack while the elf buckled his armor back on. He sighed when Hawke pouted. "Look, Garrett, your flirting? I'm flattered, really, but... I'm not ready to do that yet."

Hawke went pale and his eyes widened. "Oh, shit, I- I'm sorry, Anders." He put a hand on the the avian's shoulder. "I'm still gonna teach you to fly. That's common decency. Feel free to punch me next time I get pushy."

"He would hit you every time you opened your mouth," Fenris said.

"He would," Hawke agreed. "I'm going hunting, you guys go help Varric with the tents. He'll hoard the spikes if you don't stop him. Too shiny, I guess. Ferrets." He laughed and went to grab his bow.

Fenris waited until he was gone to turn to Anders and ask, "What happened that you would turn him down?"

Anders looked down and answered, "Something that shouldn't have."

 

Anders peered over the edge of the cliff and felt his wings flutter on instinct. Hawke clasped his shoulder encouragingly.

"It's mostly instinct," Hawke told him. "You just jump and flap. And it's not that far down. Even if you fall, you won't get hurt."

Anders nodded, stepped the the edge, and jumped. There was a brief moment of rightness- _this_ was where he was supposed to be, with the wind in his hair and under his feathers, nowhere near the ground-

The breath huffed out of him as he hit the sand of the coast.

Hawke broke into giggle several feet above him. "You forgot to flap!" He soared down and helped Anders to his feet, still chuckling. "Come on, lets try again."

Flying was exhausting, but Hawke seemed prepared for that, tucking bread and dried meat into Anders' hands between each short flight. Eventually, Anders just sat in the sand, breathing hard and stuffing food into his mouth, while Hawke went to help Varric pick through seashells. (Ferret hybrids, always collecting things.)

Something bumped against his shoulder and he screeched, feathers fluffing to make himself bigger. Fenris, who had bumped his head against Anders arm, dropped his gaze to the ground and flushed.

"Fenris?"

"I... apologize. Instinct."

"Forming a pack?"

Fenris looked at him. "How did you...?"

Anders chuckled softly. "I knew another wolf hybrid, in Ferelden. He dragged my into his pack before I knew what was happening. His little sister, an elk, just laughed at me." He shrugged. "I'd never had a flock before." He leaned to bump his shoulder against Fenris's side, then stood. "I'm going to throw myself off a cliff again."

He hear the wolf's quiet laughter as he left, and, oddly, his heart beat a little harder.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I fucking hate this and I edited out a bunch of shit, including a conversation with Justice and some interactions with Hawke and Bethany. If you are interested in either, I can be convinced into posting them on my blog.

Anders woke to pounding at his door. He dragged a shirt on and hurried out of the clinic.

“Healer,” a little boy hissed at him. “Healer, Mama is stalling some Templars looking for you, you have to run. She can’t have her baby without you.” The child scratched at an antler nub at his crown while Anders rushed to his “bedroom”, gathering up his pillow and snatching his satchel of lyrium potions. He headed towards a nearby passage that would deposit him in Lowtown, slipping the boy a coin as he went. 

He paused in the tunnel. Where would he go? Hawke was already hiding Bethany, so that was out. Lirene was needed by the refugees as much as he was and he couldn’t put her at risk any more than she already was.

He remembered something Lea, one of his volunteers, had told him. _There’s an abandoned mansion up in Hightown. The family I work for is terrified of it. Most people are._ An abandoned mansion, and no Templar would expect an apostate in Hightown. It could work.

The mansion wasn't hard to locate.The front gardens were overgrown and the windows were filthy. A bit of Force magic toggled the lock open and he stepped inside, turning to close the door behind him.

"Mage?"

Anders whirled around, staff already off his back and a fireball in his hand. Fenris stood on the staircase, holding his broadsword and wearing only his leggings. Anders blinked in surprise.

"Why are you here?" the elven hybrid finally asked.

"Templar raid on my clinic," Anders answered. "I thought this place was abandoned?"

"It is, technically. Are... You alright?"

No, Anders was not. Fenris's lyrium tattoos curled artistically over his chest and arms, curving over his hips until they vanished under his waistband. The avian's mouth went dry, and Justice started murmuring about singing... Anders squeezed his eyes shut and focused on breathing. He couldn't, he _couldn't_ , so soon after Karl, not when he still had nightmares about ram hybrid.

"I'm fine."

"Not a very convincing lie."

"Best I've got right now." He remembered Hawke's paraphrasing of the anti-magic rant Fenris gave Bethany and felt panic twist in his gut. "I'll only be here a few hours. I know how you feel about mages, which is completely reasonable given what you've need through, but I won't be here long. Please don't turn me over to the Templars. Please."

The wolf hybrid's large green eyes bore into Anders' gold for a long moment before, slowly, he nodded. "You're afraid. I can smell it."

Anders huffed out a laugh and sunk to the floor. He knees were shaking too hard to hold him any longer. "Is that a corpse? Are you living with a corpse?"

"There is more than one. Mage..."

Anders inhaled sharply. Was it getting harder? "This is the closest I've been to the Chantry since then, you know that? I thought I could handle it." The room was tilting slightly. Justice was oddly quiet. He gasped again.

Oh. Panic attack. 

"Breathe, Mage. Breathe with me." His hand was placed on someone's- Fenris's?- side. He felt ribs expand from deep even breaths and fought to match them, but it was so, so hard when he heard that flat voice in his head, saw that sunburst brand.

Gradually, agonizingly, he came out of it. Fenris held his hand by the wrist, keeping it pressed to his ribs. "What happened at the Chantry?" the elf asked, and Anders burst into tears.

 

Fenris waited for Anders to sob himself to sleep before leaving the mansion, heading straight for Lowtown. As expected, Hawke and Varric were in the Hanged Man, Hawke plying his younger siblings with alcohol while the guardsman they were acquainted with, Aveline, shook her head is disapproval.

Hawke's sister, Bethany, noticed him first. "Fenris!" She smiled, a bit hesitant and more than a little skittish. She was a deer hybrid, and her every instinct told her to run from Fenris, him being a wolf hybrid. His angry rant on mages upon meeting her probably didn't help.

He felt a little guilty for that. Hawke had chewed him out afterward.

Fenris moved to the table, keeping it between himself and Bethany. Aveline, a bear hybrid, had done the same. "Hawke," he said, gaining the eagle's attention.

"What's up, Fenris?" Garrett's face was serious, matching Fenris's tone.

"Templars raided the mage's clinic. He is fine. He fled to the mansion, thinking it deserted. He proceeded to have a panic attack in the foyer. What happened in the Chantry? He mentioned it."

No one would meet his eyes.

"He had a friend in the Gallows," Bethany finally whispered. "He was Tranquil. I... I think they were lovers, before. Anders killed him. _I_ still have nightmares, and I didn't know Karl before. I can't imagine what Anders is going through." She shuddered and shifted closer to Garrett and Carver, doe ears drooping.

"Is Anders alright?" Hawke asked, tucking his sister close to his side and draping a wing over her.

Fenris nodded. “He calmed down and fell asleep in front of my fireplace.”

Garrett dropped his head into his hands. “A room’s fifty silver… We got that much off thugs tonight, right? I can’t take him home, one apostate in one house is enough. The Chantry might combust. Unless…” He lifted his head. “Aveline?”

The bear hybrid shook her head. “I can’t keep a known apostate in the barracks, Hawke.”

“He is no trouble,” Fenris said before he could stop himself. His instincts were pressing him to get back, protect his pack. “I just wanted to know what would cause a mage to have such an attack.”

“Are you sure?” Hawke asked. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, Fenris, you’re fl- you’re a friend.”

Fenris flushed. He knew what Hawke was going to say, and he didn’t know how to handle being accepted so quickly into Hawke’s family unit. Eagles defended what was theirs. “The mage is on the ground floor, away from where I sleep. I will be fine.” He left the tavern.

The mage was where Fenris had left him: asleep on the rug in front of the fire, face drawn and cheeks tearstained. He'd curled into a ball and wrapped his wings around himself, but otherwise hadn't moved.

He looked vulnerable, Fenris thought. He didn't look like a mage.

He looked _human_.

And that was enough startling realization for the night, Fenris decided, and went to find a bottle of wine.

 

Anders woke warmer than he had any right to be in Darktown. He sat up slowly, blinking sleep from his eyes. 

This wasn't his clinic.

There was a soft snuffling sound next to him. Fenris lay curled, head pillowed on his arms, back towards the front door. Valan, he remembered, had done the same thing- sleeping at the edge of the pack to better protect them. So, Anders wasn’t in his clinic and Fenris was there.

_Did we have sex?_ he thought, half hysterical, guilt unfurling in his belly.

**NO.** Justice rumbled in the back of his head. **YOU FLED THE TEMPLARS AND PANICKED. THE SINGING ELF DID NOTHING UNTOWARD.** The spirit was quiet a moment. **WE ARE IN HIGHTOWN**

The guilt in Anders stomach wound tighter and he lurched to his feet. Thankfully, the nearest door lead to what appeared to be servants' quarters, complete with a chamber pot.

"Are you ill?" Fenris had come in at some point while Anders was vomiting. "Or is this caused by what happened with Karl?"

Anders' heart clenched. “How do you know about him?” His voice was hoarse from bile.

The elf shuffled his feet. “I asked Hawke last night. His sister told me. I… I am sorry for your loss.” He stepped into the room and handed Anders his waterskin.

Anders rinsed the taste of vomit from his mouth and stood on unsteady feet. “I should… My clinic.”

Fenris gestured for him to wait. “I will fetch my armor and escort you there.” He frowned slightly. “I am protective of you. Hawke, as well.”

Anders shook his head slightly. “You’re just like Valan.”

Fenris cocked his head to the side while his ears pricked forward. “Who?”

“Valan Tabris. He and his sister are the Wardens that stopped the Blight. His little sister, Maya, is the one who conscripted me.”

“You are a Warden?”

“I have commitment issues. There are some things, like the nightmares or the taint, I’ll never get rid of, but I’m here now.” He dropped his head to his hands. “Lot of good that did.”

There was several moments of near-silence before Fenris scuffed his feet on the floor with a murmured “my armor” before he fled.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabela appears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for why this took so long. I'm sorry.

It was too late for this.

Anders had spent hours helping a horse hybrid labor, and almost as soon as he had tucked the child- a boy, some sort of feline hybrid- into his mother’s arms, Hawke had come bursting through the clinic doors.

One of Anders’ volunteers, Lea, was so startled she cried an alarm call, the feathers on her wings and scalp fluffing up.

Then it was off to the docks to handle some mercenary and help a little boy- a non-hybrid named Pryce- and Anders just wanted to go home and sleep.

No, first Hawke had to drag him and Aveline and Carver to the Hanged Man to divvy up profits because _Maker forbid it wait until morning._

That’s when it really got bad.

Now, Anders’ face was pressed against a sticky tabletop as he considered the pros and cons of telling Hawke to go fuck himself and handle _this_ without him.

This being Isabela, because Anders can’t leave his past in _fucking Fereldan._

Nora dropped a tankard of ale in front of him. “You look like you need this. On the house." Her eyes darted around the room. "The Coterie was asking about the Darktown Healer. Watch your back."

"Thanks, Nora," Anders said gratefully. He nodded toward Hawke and Isabela. "How long has she been here?"

"Who, the cat? A month or so. She normally keeps to herself. That fight's the first time she's caused a fuss."

"How many times have I told you I'm a lynx?"

"And her hearing can _go fuck itself_."

Hawke moved to sit next to Anders, flinching slightly when Isabela draped herself over his arm. "Anders, this is Isabela. She's in a spot of trouble, and no one can fix their own problems anymore. You're going home now."

Something contrary in Anders reared its head. "And why is that?"

"I'm not asking you to go back to the Chantry. It's been barely over two months."

Anders' hands tightened on his tankard as he stared into his ale. "Oh." He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "I'll be fine, Hawke."

Hawke smiled at Anders before he jolted and pushed Isabela away. “Look, Captain, I’m not interested. I don’t like sex. I’ve tried it. Didn’t work out. Please stop palming my crotch.” There was a hint of hysteria to his voice that had Justice stirring and Aveline reaching for her sword.

Isabela peeled herself off him. “Sorry, Feathers. Personal space. Got it.” Her face grew serious. “Like Hawke said, I need help. I lost something, a relic someone wants. I can’t find it, they want me dead. I’ve arranged a duel, but I don’t trust Hayder to play fair.” One tufted ear flicked in annoyance, the two gold hoops pierced through the side clicking together. She shook her head as though to clear it and grinned, a predatory expression. “You… Anders, was it? What can you do?” The grin widened. “I hope more than you showed me in Denerim.”

All eyes zeroed in on Anders and he dropped his head to the table again. “You remember. I’d hoped you didn’t.”

“Another thing I need to leave alone?”

“Please.” Fuck it, he decided mentally, and downed his ale. “Oh sweet Maker’s nipples, this is piss.”

“Don’t have today’s stew,” Isabela warned. “I don’t know what’s in it, but I saw a feather.”

“Hawke,” Aveline cut in. There was an annoyed tone to her voice that put Anders on edge. “I’m in the guard. I can’t get involved in this.”

Hawke nodded. “Should we go get Fenris or Bethany?”

“Are they hybrids?” Isabela asked.

“A wolf and a doe.”

“Bring the wolf. Hayder’s a varghest.”

“Fuck,” Anders muttered.

“Bethany is staying home,” Carver said.

“ _You’re_ staying home!” Hawke squawked at his brother. “Have you seen a varghest?”

“Have you?”

“I have,” Anders told him. “Go home, Carver. They aren’t something you want to mess with, the hybrids more so. I have scars from pissing off Velanna.”

Carver scowled until Hawke pushed him from the tavern. The eagle sighed. “Lemme get Varric and we can head for Hightown.”

 

Fenris stared at the pile of bedding on his floor with narrowed eyes. He’d dragged the rug from the fireplace in the sitting room and added one of Hawke’s shirts that had made its way into the elf’s pack. Both were in the pile.

Hawke, Anders, and Varric, along with a woman they’d introduced as Isabela, stood next to him, also looking at the tangle of fabric and pillows.

“What’s this?” Hawke asked.

“I don’t know,” Fenris told him. “I… needed to make it.”

“It’s a den,” Anders said. “Like we nest, Hawke. Valan did this a lot. Make a space for your pack. It smells like Hawke and I, right?”

Hawke’s eyes lit up in understanding with the nesting analogy. “I take dirty laundry from my flock and make nests with it.”

“You are the weirdest eagle I’ve ever met.” Anders scuffed the floor with his foot. Fenris could smell blood and ale and the ever-present fear.

His pack shouldn’t smell like fear.

Fenris pushed Anders gently toward the pile.The mage set his staff aside, pulled off his boots, and sat in the blankets. The wolf turned expectantly to Hawke. “Get in, then tell me why you’re here.”

Fenris crawled in once Hawke had settled, sitting between both avians close enough to brush shoulders. Isabela explained her duel. Fenris nodded when she finished.

“I will help,” he decided, fussing with the bedding of his ‘den.’ “When?”

“An hour,” Isabela said. “I’ll meet you in the Chantry courtyard.” She swayed her way from the room, the motion of her hips not quite concealing the nervous twitch of her tail. 

Fenris noticed Anders’ fear-scent lessened slightly, and fought the instinct telling him to hunt the feline down and rip her apart for scaring his pack. 

The mage tapped his arm. “I’m fine,” Anders soothed. “Isabela and I have met before, and… I’m not exactly proud of who I was then.” The muscles of his shoulder spasmed suddenly. “Andraste’s knicker weasels. Lea took me out flying this morning. She must have missed a feather when we preened afterward and I can’t reach it.”

“Lea?” Varric fiddled with a loose floor tile, pocketed it.

Anders shoved one hand up the back of his shirt. “One of my volunteers. Actually, she’s more a co-owner. She’s a scarlet tanager. I send her with potions to pass around the alienage.”

“She’s an elf?” Hawke asked. He reached to pull up Anders’ shirt.

Anders pushed his hand away. “Half. Her father was Dalish that fell in love with a human here is Kirkwall. Her father’s an august ram, I believe. Sweet Maker, I almost got it.”

“Anders, let me get the blighted feather.” Hawke whined. “You let Lea touch your wings.”

“Lea’s seen- Never mind. Just drop it, Hawke.”

“Lea’s seen what?” Fenris asked, reaching out to pull Varric into the den. The ferret chittered in surprise before he started picking at fabric scraps.

Anders shoulders slumped in resignation, and he pulled his hand out from his shirt. “I have… scars,” he admitted. “They’re not pretty. Lea was the alienage’s midwife before I showed up, so she’s seen it all before.”

“Anders…” Hawke started, but Anders shook his head.

“Just leave it.”

They left it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything goes wrong.

Fenris raised his head at the pounding on the mansion’s front door. Anders’ knocking was softer, Aveline’s more measured… It had to be Hawke. Fenris burrowed deeper into the blankets of his den. Hawke would either take the hint and go away or let himself in.

Footsteps on the staircase let Fenris know it was the latter.He sighed and groped for a tunic.

Hawke sauntered into the room with a grin, tailed by his siblings and Anders. The petrel smiled apologetically. 

“Who wants to go the Sundermount?” Hawke asked, far too cheerful for whatever early hour it had to be.

“I’m going home,” Anders deadpanned, but his eyes sparkled with mirth. Bethany giggled.

“Why are we going to Sundermount?” Fenris asked, because, really, he wasn’t going to say no.

“I promised a very scary mage that turned into a dragon I would deliver something to the Dalish. I wanna be a dragon. Anders, can you turn into a dragon?”

“Shapeshifting magic is odd,” Anders shrugged, “and most hybrids struggle with it. I learned, but I can only be a petrel, because that’s my hybridization.”

“I have to be a mage?” Hawke wailed. Carver rolled his eyes and patted his brother’s shoulder. Fenris dragged his gauntlets out from under the unused bed and set about strapping them on.

“I brought breakfast,” Bethany declared, digging through her pockets and procuring two still-warm rolls. Fenris grabbed on to stuff in his mouth while he rooted through his for his footwraps. The doe gave the other to Anders.

She then crouched tentatively outside of the den and offered Fenris a tattered bandanna. “This is like Garrett’s nest, right? I thought maybe you’d like something of mine to add.” When Fenris nodded, she set the bandanna on the edge of the den. He eyed it critically. It was frayed and threadbare, but clean, and it smelled like the deer hybrid- like summer growth and the sharpness of ice magic.

Fenris stood and strapped Lethandralis to his back. Anders already had the wolf’s pack. Bethany passed both more bread.

Both Anders and Bethany lost some of their nervous tension once they left the city. “Less templars,” Hawke explained.

“Anders,” Bethany started after a while. “Could you teach me a few spells? I’m a fair hand at elemental magic, but I’ve never learned some of the things I’ve seen you do.”

“Primal magic,” Anders told her. “Lightning and such? Yes, that’s primal magic, and most mages have trouble grasping it without a teacher.” He started talking about mana and spells and Bethany seemed to soak it up. When they broke for lunch, he demonstrated for all of them, splitting two large stones with a chain lightning spell.

Hawke urged him to shapeshift.

“Some other time,” Anders answered, sprawling in the grass and accepting a sandwich from the eagle. “I don’t think I’ve tried since… Ferelden.” He rolled over onto his back, his shirt rucking up to reveal a swathe of cotton laced to his abdomen.

“What’s that?” Carver asked.

“Binder,” Anders replied. “Keeps my wings pressed to my back and out of the way.”

“Hawke squawked in surprise. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Not really.”

“They’re common in Tevinter,” Fenris said. “The upper classes like to pretend they are never hybrids.”

“Was…” Bethany trailed off.

“No. But I remember an Altus, a magister’s son, caused a scandal because he refused to bind his wings for a while. Pals… Pavus.” He turned an apple over in his hands. “I’ve never had one of these. What is safe to eat?”

“Pull off the stem,” Anders told him, “then all of it, technically.”

“Most people don’t eat the core,” Carver added.

Hawke seemed stuck on Anders’ binder. “But… Why do you still have it?”

The petrel shrugged and handed Fenris his own apple. “Habit. My wings get sore sometimes, but I’m used to it. I couldn’t even fly until a month ago, Hawke. They just took up space.”

Hawke scowled, took a bite of his sandwich. “Take it off,” he muttered around the mouthful.

Anders rolled his eyes, but loosened the laces of the binder and shucked it off over his hips. “Happy?”

“Bethy, set it on fire.”

“Garrett!”

Anders actually started snickering, and it was a catalyst to them all laughing.

 

Fenris shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny of the Dalish. Hawke was speaking to the clan’s Keeper, Marethari, and the others had already been judged unworthy of the elves’ time, but Fenris… He frowned, scuffing a foot against the ground. Their staring was too reminiscent of when Danarius paraded him in front of other magisters.

Hawke returned, his expression subdued. “We have to bring this amulet to the top of the mountain or something. One of the Dalish is coming with us, then apparently we’re supposed to bring her back to Kirkwall.”

“Good thing we brought the tents,” Carver muttered darkly.

Fenris chewed the inside of his cheek. He wanted to leave, but he _couldn’t_ tell the others to leave, _that wasn’t his place_ -

“Let’s go,” Anders urged. “My experiences with Dalish usually involved punching trees, as in the trees punched _me_.”

The Dalish travelling with them was a petite non-hybrid and a mage. She introduced herself as Merrill, stuttered her way through basic conversation, and eventually silenced in embarrassment.

Carver looked absolutely smitten.

As the sun began to set and they put up the tents, they puzzled over sleeping arrangements. Hawke recommended splitting off by gender, Merrill suggested the mages share a tent. Anders left them to figure it out, announcing he was exhausted. He crawled into a tent started snoring.

Eventually, it was decided that no one cared, and mages bunked together for Merrill’s comfort.

 

Blood magic.

Justice was ranting inside Anders’ head, hiding his fear from the demon that had come so close behind copious word vomit. Merrill was defending herself from Fenris and Hawke, looking for an out.

Her eyes lit on Anders, and his stomach sank.

“You’re judging me,” the Dalish said, “but you’re travelling with a possessed mage.”

Fenris rounded on Anders, eyes wide. “What?”

“It’s a spirit!” Anders exclaimed. He didn’t know why he felt the need for Fenris to understand, but he did. “A spirit of Justice, and he was dying. I was trying to save him, Fenris, please-” He reached out.

“Don’t touch me!” Fenris snarled. “Mages, you’re all the same! I should have know better!”

“Stop!” Hawke yelled. “This is _not_ the time. Fenris, do you think I would let Anders anywhere near you if I thought he was a danger? I’ve met Justice a few times, he’s not bad. The only time I’ve ever been afraid of him was the Chantry, which we we will explain to you, but _this is not the time_.” The eagle panted a little. “Merrill, for the time being, can you hold off on the blood magic? Just for now. We all need to talk.”

The elf nodded, rinsing her cut. Anders sighed and took her hand, healing it.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I felt cornered.”

“It’s alright,” Anders sighed again. “It was going to happen sooner or later.”

“It was still wrong of me.” Her hand dropped to her side. “And I was hoping we could be friends.”

“We still may be. I know what it’s like to have your mouth get away from you.”

Watching Fenris rip through a revenant made him wonder if that friendship could be salvaged.

Flemeth was an enigma, spewing cryptic nugshit, but what she said to Anders echoed through his mind even after he returned to his clinic.

_“Justice is a heavy burden, Warden. You cannot carry it alone.”_


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molting season, meeting Justice, and more problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not even a thousand words, but take it.
> 
> You will pry my ellipses from my cold, dead hands.

Anders grit his teeth, pounding on Hawke’s door in Lowtown. His mother answered, glanced at the feathers in the Healer’s hair, and ushered him in. “Garrett’s in the back,” she told him.

The back room was covered in ragged feathers and nesting materials. Bethany was combing her fingers through one of Hawke’s wings, loose feathers fluttering free with every pass. Both siblings turned to Anders as he entered. Hawke gestured to the space in front of him. Anders settled, slipping a wing through the slit in his shirt. 

Molting season had begun three days ago, and every avian in Kirkwall was suffering its effects.

The first pass of Hawke’s hand over his wing dislodged a veritable shower of feathers,and Anders nearly sobbed in relief as the maddening itch eased.

“Fenris still not talking to you?” Hawke murmured, straightening secondaries.

“No,” Anders sulked. “Not a word, for weeks.”

Hawke sighed. “We head for the Deep Roads soon, and I need you both.”

“Maybe if he met Justice?” Bethany suggested.

“We could try,” Hawke mused. “Bethy, that feather? Yeah, that one. Yank it. Just- Yesss~” His shoulders slumped with bliss as Bethany dropped a covert to the floor. “He’s talking to me, sorta. He’s upset I didn’t tell him. His den hasn’t changed, though, so his instincts still consider you pack. That’s good, right?”

“It’s a start, I guess.” Anders pushed his wing back into Hawke’s hand. “Sweet Maker, that feels amazing.”

“Have you ever had someone help you through a molt?”

“Karl tried.” Anders bit down on a pleased groan. “Hurt more than helped. Didn’t trust any of the avians in the Circle.”

Hawke switched to Anders’ other wing, and pleasure rolled through his body. He whistled softly and went boneless… mostly.

“Put that away.”

“Sorry.”

 

Anders paced Varric’s rooms in the Hanged Man, picking at the hem of his coat. “Are we sure about this?”

“You don’t have to, Blondie,” Varric replied, “but it is a good idea for Broody to meet our glowing friend.”

**I WILL SPEAK TO THE SINGING ELF. HIS APPREHENSION IS JUST.**

Ander chewed on his lip. _You don’t have to._

**I AM AWARE.**

“Alright,” he said to himself, then, louder, “alright. I’m sitting down and letting Justice out.”

His sight distorted until it seemed like he was looking through water. He felt detached, disassociated.

He was going to vomit after this. Fantastic.

Hawke knocked on the door and peeked in. “Oh good, he’s here. Fenris.” He shoved the elf into the room.

Fenris approached the table Anders/Justice was seated at, steps measured and wary. “Demon.”

“I am not a demon.”

Anders would have flinched. _Bring down the volume._

**OF COURSE.**

Fenris continued, unaware of the exchange. “You possess a mage. What did you offer him? What is the price of a Healer’s soul?”

“I offered nothing. I was trapped outside the Fade, Anders facing death. It saved us both.”

He was _definitely_ throwing up now, after remembering a sword slide between his ribs…

“A likely story,” Fenris spat, and something contrary and rebellious in Anders’ soul reared its head.

 _Prove it_ , he told Justice, and the spirit pulled down the collar of their shirt to show the wide scar spanning their breast.

The room stilled.

“That should have killed you,” Hawke breathed.

“It nearly did kill him,” Justice said primly. “Had we not joined, the Templars would have killed him and never faced justice. Commander Tabris and her brother would not return him to the Circle, so the Templars came to take him by force.” He moved the shirt collar back into place and frowned. “I’ve upset him. I should not speak of Maya.”

Anders was upset; he missed Maya, the little elf/elk that never failed to make him feel loved. _I’m fine_ , he insisted, but Justice did what felt like a mental headshake.

Fenris stared at the place the scar sat, covered by rough-woven cotton, and stood stiffly. “I want to speak to Anders.”

Anders’ senses sharpened as Justice relinquished control. His hands shook as he fought nausea- later, he promised himself, we can be sick later. Finally, “He didn’t lie. I don’t think Justice is capable of lying.” He smiled weakly. “Do I need to stand?”

“No.” Green eye bore into his. “Had you not been…”

“Stabbed?”

“...Yes. Would you have let it?”

“Absolutely not. Probably. I would have tried preserving the corpse he was possessing first, at least.” Anders giggled, slightly manic, blinking back tears. “Honestly? I didn’t want to leave.”

Fenris grabbed the collar of Anders’ coat and hauled him to his feet. “Damn you, mage,” the wolf growled, and kissed him hard. Then he was gone, and Anders fell into the chair and watched Fenris’s tail vanish out the door.

“What the fuck was that?” Hawke asked, eyes wide. “Did he- Were you- What?” He gestured helplessly. “Oh Maker, Anders, you’re crying!”

“Molting season makes me weepy,” the petrel sniffled, but Hawke’s expression said he didn’t believe the lie.

“Yeah, okay,” the eagle said soothingly. “Come on, there’s a place nearby with decent tea. If you ask nicely, they’ll even spike it with brandy.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What the fuck is this?

“...Healing potions are on those shelves, laundry is done on Fridays, Lea will help you.” Anders gestured at the tanager hybrid, who smiled and waved. “Are you sure about this, Bethany?”

The doe hybrid nodded. “Someone has to look after your clinic. I’m no Spirit Healer, but I can do something.”

Anders smiled at her, a genuine expression. Bethany Hawke was a calming sort of person. “One last thing. In the back, there’s an alcove hidden behind a loose board on the wall. If you have to move the clinic, grab everything in there.”

Bethany nodded again. “Everything from the hiding place.”

“Good. Lea can cover anything I missed-”

“I could have covered all of it,” the half-elf chirped as she rolled bandages. “Don’t worry, Healer, we have it under control. Now go, before you’re late.” She pointed to the knapsack he’d packed the day before, and he smiled sheepishly as he took it and headed for the lifts.

He spent the lift ride regulating his breathing. This was the first time he’d be facing Fenris since the kiss. The wolf had refused to explain himself to Hawke, and, eventually, the eagle let it lie.

Anders couldn’t, though, and even now felt the phantom pressure of Fenris’s lips on his own. He reached up to wrap a hand around the amulet tucked into his robes. A simple crystal on a leather thong, the first thing Anders had ever enchanted. He’d taken it from Karl’s body that night, clutching it to his chest during his silent vigil over the pyre in the Coast.

The lift shuddered to a stop across from the Blooming Rose, so Anders swallowed his guilt. He could hate himself later. Right now, he was a Warden guiding a bunch of idiots through the Deep Roads as safely as possible. “Andraste help me,” he muttered, stepping from the shadow of the alleyway.

 

Varric was shouting, but Anders barely heard over the screaming in his head. He couldn't pull in enough air, his vision blurring, blackening at the edges. 

Small, gentle hands guided him to floor, speaking softly in a language he didn't know. Trapped, he was trapped, alone, please, no, he could be good, don't leave him alone….

Justice pushed him into unconsciousness, and he went willingly. 

 

Fenris watched as Merrill coaxed Anders to the floor, the mage babbling “I'll be good, I'll be good, I'm sorry,” staring unseeing at the thiag’s door. Merrill jumped, startled, as the avian glowed blue. 

“Justice?” the Dalish asked, fidgeting. “What's going on? What's wrong with Anders?” 

The spirit disregarded her, electricity crackling into existence around him. Hawke threw a glance behind him at the sound, squawked, and yanked Varric away from the door. The lightning crashed against the door, blinding everyone. 

The door held.

“What the fuck, Justice?” Hawke yelled. 

“Anders was having a flashback,” the spirit said simply. “He does not like being trapped.”

“None of us fucking well like it,” Hawke giggled. “Shit. I gotta get somewhere with high ceilings soon. Sky Madness is setting in.” He slid down the wall. “This is a disaster.”

Justice nodded in grim acknowledgement. “There is always another way out when it comes to the Deep Roads. I learned that much with the Warden Commander.”

Fenris strode to Hawke's side, helping the eagle to his feet. The wolf's ears were flat against his head from stress. 

“We're fine,” Hawke assured him, but neither of them really believed it.

Justice called out his discovery of another exit. Fenris felt his stomach flip- his mage’s voice should echo like that, it should rumble like the surf petrels spent so much time near.

“Come on, Fenris.” Hawke's words jarred the wolf hybrid from his thoughts. “We'll follow Justice for now. Not like we have much choice.”

Anders didn't make an appearance until long after the encounter with the rock wraiths; just suddenly slid to the floor, wracked with terrified sobs. Hawke tucked a wing around the petrel, voicing a few of the screechy chirps typical of eagles.

“Sorry,” Anders gasped between sobs. “Sorry, I can't feel trapped, I'm so sorry-”

“You're fine, Sparklefingers,” Isabela purred. The gold hoops in her ears chimed as her ears turned this way and that, listening for darkspawn. “You take all the time you need.”

“Can I touch you?” The question was barely audible, even to Fenris’s ears. “I need to know you're real.”

That was sickeningly familiar. Fenris had seen slaves constantly reaching for nearby peers after periods in isolation. But if Anders was having problems like this after years…

His instincts demanded hunt down the person who hurt his pack and tear them apart.

Fenris settled himself next to the avains, slipping his hand in Anders’. The mage clung to it, chirping, but his breathing seemed to come easier. 

“Thank you,” he said, then surged into Fenris’s lap with renewed tears. 

When they returned to Kirkwall, there would be conversations. For now, Fenris held Anders to his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand that's the end of Saying That I Want More. Act Two will be covered in another installment that is yet unnamed. There will be a lot relationship negotiations in it, though. A lot.

**Author's Note:**

> Hybrid questions? I'm onthenilerivah on tumblr. I think about this way too much, so I probably have an answer.  
> Based on the rt hybrid au by padalickingood


End file.
